Faceless
by the house of the rising sun
Summary: A oneshot collection about the Joker. Some romances, some angst, a lot of crazy. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! Quick disclaimer: I don't own TDK, or any related characters or situations, though that would be awesome. Uh, this is about the Joker, yeah. that's...it.  
Since I always write to music, I've included an accompanying track that I wrote most of this chapter to. Listen if you want, don't listen if you don't want. :)**

**Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End  
Accompanying Track: I'm So Sick by Flyleaf**

_They grabbed him._

_"No one informs on us," the tall one said in a deadly voice, holding the scared young man by the neck. "People who do end up dead."_

_The young man gulped. He was as good as dead. Not even. He _was _dead. A corpse, usurping a living man's right to walk amongst those with a pulse. The fat one smiled and spat on him._

_"But the boss sort of took a liking to ya, and won't let me and Jimmy kill you off." the young man breathed, the relief immense. The fat one suddenly grabbed his jaw._

_"But the boss told us to punish you. So this is what we do to talking sonsofbitches like you."_

_A knife went in his mouth, and before he knew what was happening, a sickening R-R-R-RIPPPP! sound occured. He screamed._

Mutilated.

He stared at himself in the mirror as though it couldn't be happening, as though the ugly, fresh scars on the sides of his face. It wasn't happening, no. It couldn't be.

Yet it was. Everything that he didn't want to lose, was gone in the instant that his face was cut. Who'd work with him? Who'd like him now? This meant no future, and no future meant no money. And no money mean that he couldn't possibly support his girl, who'd been threatening to leave him for a man with better prospects anyway. Everything he had ever worked for in his life was being torn down in front of him, all because of his face, now forever smiling

His life was over. He felt the tears rising in the back of his throat.

And oh! It hurt! It hurt like hell, though the doctors said that he should've healed enough so that he wouldn't feel them anymore. But they burned, aching more than they had on the first day. The salty tears that were now travelling down his face made the damn things sting. He hated the stinging; it drove him insane. He ground his teeth and forced a smile across his lips. He'd stop crying if it killed him.

Oh damn. Damn him, damn the world! They'd pay. He'd make them all pay. He allowed angry tears of hate and pain to flood down his face.

Then it came. The inane, forced, hysterical cackle that hurt his voice and filled the gaps of his bathroom.

"I'LL KILL YOU ALL, DAMMIT! I'LL KILL YOU ALL!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey y'all! Thankies to everyone that reviewed!**

**I just want to say that in this chapter, beware of an OOC Joker and a JokerXOC pairing.**

**ALSO I wanna say that I take requests for tracks. Just tell me the name and artist (if you also want to include a theme as well, you're welcome to) in a review or a message, and I'll do the best I can to fulfil your wishes.  
****Okay! On with the chappie!**

**Chapter 2: Who Could Love a Man Like Me?  
Accompanying track: Cassie (acoustic) by Flyleaf**

The man in clown makeup stands on the fire escape, palms pressed to the class of her window. He wonders sadly if she ever thinks of him.

Joker breathes heavily and shivers. It is raining, and thunder rumbles in the distance. As the rain falls, ever heavier, his makeup is smudged, eroded, and in some places, altogether washed away. If she just looked around, she'd see his face, eyes, mouth...scars.

But she does not turn. She sits herself down in the chair facing away from him, and turns on the television. He sighs angrily, and leans his forehead on the glass, smudging it.

Is he in love? Does he even have the _capacity_ to love? But it is clear that he misses her. He wants to hold her close: to understand what something like that feels like. He wants to touch her skin without her recoiling. He grinds his teeth angrily.

Oh, for someone, _anyone_ to touch his arm. To tell him that everything would be alright. To hug him and say that every conceivable problem in the world would turn out alright, and that there was no need to cry or scream or cover up anymore, because no one cared. Because somehow, he was loved. He laughs at himself angrily, turning around and feeling water falling down his face.

He wonders if they are tears or rain.

_KLANK!_

The Joker curses and tries to get away. But it is too late; she's already heard him, and now she's two steps away from his position. Not even. He squares his shoulders, _now or never_, and taps the glass lightly.

"May I come in?"

She opens the window and allows him to come in. He takes his coat and gloves off and places them on the back of her armchair. She grinds her teeth and puts them in the closet. They drip on the floor, and as she closes the door, he breaks the silence.

"Nice place you've got here." Joker says, streching out and putting his wet shoes on the ottoman. She glares at his shoes.

"Get out."

"But-"

_"_Get _out_._"_

He looks at her very hard, and opens the window again.

"Sent the coat and gloves to the werehouse. You know where I mean."

Then he is gone, and she is left to wonder if she's made the right choice.


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm so tired...XP my voice sucks because I'm sick.  
And I'm sorry that I've been putting in and taking out chappies. I'm a perfectionist, and I want my next chapter to be awesome like the 1st two!**

**Chapter 4: No Tomorrows  
Accompanying Track: Mad World by Michael Andrews  
Suggested by: MahoneSona**

She walked down the alley tiredly. It had been a long day, and the daily slog of a five o'clock job was getting to her. Slowly, slowly, she dragged her feet across the pavement and sighed. It was cold out, and the dirty city sky might have threatened rain. She envied those people that were rushing by, tucking their coats close or ducking into the landings of apartment buildings. They had homes.

She glared at the sky and cursed the fates. She had no home, or no _real_home, for she didn't consider that dirty rat-hole apartment of hers a home.

It was just a living space, a pathetic grouping of rooms that would be traded in for something actually inhabitable, as soon as she got a raise. Money, money, money, the thing that made the world go round. Something that she always seemed to be lacking.

She was so deep in thought that she nearly ran into a lank stranger that was walking by with a case tucked under his arm.

"Sorry," she mumbled, standing and trying to dodge him. He grabbed her arm suddenly, and she was surprised to notice that despite his physique resembling that of a pencil, his grip was harsh and vise like.

"L-let go..."

She looked up, and despite the fact that greenish-brown hair hung in his face so that more than half was thrown into shadow, she clearly saw the clown face staring down at her, a slow, demonic smile spreading across its mouth. He licked his lips once, and spoke.

"You just keep turning up like a bad penny, don't you angelface?"

Rachel Dawes ground her teeth.

"Look who's talking." she retorted, some girlish, smug part of her thinking that this childish comeback would faze the Joker. It didn't. He laughed softly, menacingly, and changed his grip so that he could hold her close. She turned her face away, looking defiantly at the floor.

He extended a surprisingly gentle hand and caressed her cheek, drawing her closer...closer...

"You know what your problem is, sweetheart?" he asked, breathing lightly on her neck and artfully pulling a switchblade from his pocket. Rachel saw it, and despite her efforts to remain composed, her eyes grew wide with fear.

"Your problem," he hissed, flicking the blade out. "Is that you _don't smile. _You've got such a pretty face, and you don't use it to _smile_."

"Now _I _can help you with that." he grinned, holding the knife to the dying streetlamp. It glinted in a sickly fashion, and made Rachel gasp a little.

"Let's put a _smile_ on that face!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! After a bit of a delay, I've come back with another chapter! ****Thanks to everyone who reviewed, yet again.**

**It's sorta related to the last chappie (being that it's still JokerXRachel). And erm...that's it!**

**Oh, and just a quick btw, you pronounce Zsavros (zav-rosse). My friends didn't know how to pronounce it, so yeah.**

**Chapter 4: Visiting Hours in Arkham  
Accompanying Track: My Immortal by Evanescence**

"Excuse me, but there's a patient I'd like to see."

She brushed loose brown waves from her face and looked at the attendant. The young man nodded and opened a register.

"Sign here, ma'am, and write the name of the patient in the next column."

_Rachel Dawes...The Joker_

The young receptionist stared at the register for a moment, and then looked back to her. She nodded and flipped her hair again, angry at being held up. The man shrugged and picked up a white office phone.

"Doctor Zsavros? Yes, a young lady would like to see...erm...The Joker."

After a few moments pause, the young man nodded and hung up.

"The doctor will meet us there." she nodded tiredly and followed as the young man lead her down a painfully white hallway. They wove in and out and around, through countless hallways and passages until they finally came to a wide courtyard where a few patients were wandering, half sedated, with nurses and doctors on their arms. Rachel shuddered, and turned back to her guide.

"The doctor is just through the brown door. He'll take you to see the Joker." he said, turning to leave. Rachel nodded and turned to walk across the patio and opened the door. A tall man, with a pointed jaw and dark, slicked back hair stood in the middle of the room and nodded as she came in.

"Ah, Miss Dawes I presume." he offered a bony hand. Rachel took it cautiously, and let go as quickly as possible. His flesh was like ice, and he smelled of ether and fromaldahyde. Her gag reflexes were just kicking in as he led her down another long hallway and into a tiny visiting room. Another patient was sitting at the table farthest from Rachel with what looked like her father.

But in the middle of the room sat a haggard looking man, makeup half rubbed off, hair loosing all greenness. She took a deep breath and sat down.

"Hello."

He nodded mutely, and she watched as his gaze slid from her to the doctor, and back to her again. He shook his head.

"Not with him in the room."

Rachel whipped around and motioned for the doctor to leave.

"But Miss Dawes-"

"Go."

Doctor Zsavros left slowly, closing the door behind him, and even then, staring in the glass for awhile. The Joker smiled at Rachel.

"He's watching to make sure I don't molest you." Rachel turned bright red, and looked at her palms. He laughed brutally, and watched the doctor leave.

"Okay, the screw's gone. Now, what did you want to say?" Rachel stared at him, her mouth working, but no sound coming out. Her hands fidgeted on the table, and soon her left hand was completely caught in her brown hair.

"I didn't know things would be this difficult...but things ended...on a bad note last time-"

The Joker smirked and fought the bonds of his straightjacket. Rachel coughed, and he looked up at her.

"Oh sorry. Continue." he said.

"Well, anyway, things ended on a bad note last time, and I just wanted...to...to make things right between us."

He stared at her, one eyebrow rising to meet his hairline. Rachel glared and stood up.

"Why the hell are you staring?! I'm genuinely trying to fix things up and all you can do is fucking _stare_!" she screeched, pounding the table with her fists. The Joker shifted and coughed uncomfortably.

"But why, sweetheart?" he spat.

Rachel stopped, mid-tantrum.

"Can't think of an answer, can you?" he asked cruelly. "Is it just because you feel sorry for me? Because I'm a _freak_?" he leaned forward and bared his yellow teeth.

"Or is there some other reason?"

Rachel's mouth dropped, and he giggled a little.

"You know something?" he murmured, standing and walking over to her. She shook her head, trembling.

"You're even more beautiful than I remember."

He pressed his lips lightly to her forehead, and her hands somehow ringed themselves around his shoulders.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys, I'm running out of song ideas, so PLEEEEASE send me some! Also theme ideas or whatever. I don't wanna just stop at five! I'm shooting for ten. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I am told that i have a good taste in music. Yay!! :D :D :D**

**Also, this was origionaly meant to be a RachelxJoker, but since I've already written 2 of those, I figured people might be getting bored with it. So it's now a JokerxOC. But you can interperate it as JokerxRachel if you really want to. Your choice!**

**Chapter 5: Don't Worry about Me  
Accompanying Track: Harvey Two-Face (from the Dark Knight soundtrack) composed by Hans Zimmer**

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" she spat. "Oh, I guess that's a dumb question. You _never_ do."

She had meant to be funny, or maybe for him to come back with some automated, sarcastic retort. But there was a very long silence while he stared down at the city, at least eighty feet below. He could see horrible pockmarks from uptown to downtown (damage sites). Places he himself had blown up or set fire to. People who he drowned, burned, or just plain destroyed. From her top floor apartment, he could even make out the faint glimmer of a star above.

"You're wrong, for once in your life, beautiful." The Joker replied. "I've actually got a plan."

She stared stared at him openmouthed, unsure of what to say.

"I've left you speechless for once in my life. That's good, right?" he said, without looking at her. She spat out a singsong laugh, and he leaped away from her window, looking her full in the face. She turned bright red and shyed away from his gaze.

"Look at me." he said, taking her hair roughly and yanking it so that her face would be in line with his. She yelped helplessly, but still refused to meet those black, black eyes.

"I said LOOK AT ME!" Joker shouted, grabbing her jaw with his other hand and forcing their eyes to meet. He saw then that there were tears forming on the girl's eyelids.

"Are you crying for _me_, beautiful? You shouldn't; I'm not the sentimental type and neither are you." he growled. Tears began to stream down her face, and she looked away.

"Sh-sh-shh..." he said cooly, patting her cheek. She took a deep, shaking breath and wiped her eyes with her palm.

"I'm going to leave. And I'm probably not going to come back. I just wanted to tell you before I went-"

"But-"

"Shh!" he said, more harshly than he meant to. She chewed her lip and fought back tears. He let out an annoyed, animalistic growl and pulled her hair again, making her scream and choke a little, but he put a finger to her lips and continued.

"Okay, _listen to me_. I wanted to thank you for all you've done. No one has ever been anything like friend to me, and I've had all the reason in the world to hate people. But you...you..."

He stared into her uncomprehending eyes and sighed.

"You're the only one that I know I can trust in this town. I mean, with guys like Murroni and Lao walking around unchecked, you really can't talk to anyone around here without getting killed, or kidnapped or...scarred..."

She choked down a frantic giggle and allowed the Joker to continue.

"You've got to get out of Gotham while you can. Someone else like me will come around, but they won't be as...pleasant as I am. They'll hurt you. Kill you, if you're lucky." he said, more to himself than to her.

"But what about you?" she said, her voice coming out in a high-pitched squeal. He looked at her for a moment, considering. Then, after a moment of absolute silence, he pressed his mouth roughly to her own, and raced back to the window.

"_What about you?!_" she screeched. He turned and smirked.

"You don't need to worry about me."


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, this is my favorite song ever. MCR is my favie band ever (other than The Beatles). So I'm sorry if y'all don't like them (I know they're a love 'em or hate 'em band) but please don't flame my music tastes!**

**This is supposed to be the origin of the pencil trick (how 'bout a magic trick...) and I just discovered that there's another oneshot out about it. Pleeeease don't think that I'm taking your idea!!**

**Chapter 6: Pencils  
Accompanying Track: I'm Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance**

"Ja-a-ack..." one of the girls called, sitting across from the lank boy. He did not look up, and stayed staring at his rough palms. _I hate people._

"Jacky dear..." she cooed, flipping her blond locks. A few people behind her giggled, but the boy did not look up. He was grinding his teeth though, and the girl sitting across from him could tell.

"Come on Jack, give us a little smile." she sang, standing and putting her perfectly manicured hands on his high, bony shoulders. He growled audibly, making May's mocking smile fall right off her face.

"If you don't get off me, I'll kill you." he said. Her boyfriend snorted, and yanked young Jack's shoulder so that they'd have to face each other. Jack's eyes darted from the musclebound idiot in front of him to the door of the cafeteria. It would be a straight shot, and he could get home as quickly as possible. He could grab his backpack then, and run as far away as possible.

But there would be no getting around this muscle brained freak; not without being pounded to a pulp. And what did Jack have to defend himself with?

No knife, no gun, not even a can of pepper spray. All he had was a stupid pencil. He ground his teeth. _Oh well. Shoulda brought the Swiss Army Knife, but there's no helping that now._

Jack stood, meeting the gorilla's blue gaze and smiling. Come to think of it, this would be better than a Swiss Army Knife.

"You better apologize to my girl right now, ya freak!" he shouted, sending a spray of spittle in Jack's face. He squirmed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Yes. This would be much more satisfying than the Swiss Army Knife.

"Apologize to the blond bitch? Never."

Musclehead fisted his hands and prepared himself for hitting Jack in the face. Jack giggled. This wouldn't just be better, not even satisfying. This would be funny as hell.

"What're ya laughin' at, _freak_?" he shouted. Jack twitched a little; Musclehead laughed his heavy, dull laugh.

"Don't call me a freak." he spat.

"Huh huh huh. _Freak_!" Musclehead shouted.

Jack stabbed the white cafeteria table with vigor. The pencil stayed erect; pointed and gleaming. Jack began to laugh uncontrolably, banging the table with his fist.

"Hahaha-don't-haha-call-hahaha-me-hahaha-a-haha_-FREAK_!_"_

Jack grabbed Musclehead's head and shoved it into the pencil. He could hear the pops and cracks of a breaking skull, and as Musclehead fell, a scream erupted from the blond.

Jack walked by swiftly; without a care, leaving his weapon lodged in his victim's head. He ran through the school hallways, grabbed his backpack and ran across the grassy feild, toward home.

XXXX

"What did you do in school today, Jack?" his mother asked, making a sandwich for the lanky ninth grader at the kitchen table. "And why are you home so early?"

Jack smiled broadly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys, I really appreciate that y'all are adding me on your favorites or alerts, but could you guys review too? Not to sound ungreatful or anything. I love you all so much!! And I discovered that Dashboard Confessional actually has a good song. I'm really not a big Dashboard listener, but this has a nice tune, and it served my purpouse. So there you are, I suppose.**

**Oh, and beware of bad language in this.**

**Chapter 6: How to Tell when Someone's Listening  
Accompanying Track: Don't Wait by Dashboard Confessional**

_I change the story every time. The truth is just too much; I don't want to relive it. And besides, it's far too much fun to come up with a new past every time; and watch as the poor fools I tell the story to try and comprehend the feelings that I must've been going through. When I'm not even telling them the truth! It fills every heist and everything with hilarity. My life is absolute hilarity._

_Just fucking hilarity._

_How can I tell when they're listening, you ask? Well, I'll give you an example._

_Last week, I held up one of Gotham's favorite banks, and one of those nice lady tellers comes over to me and screams:_

_"You don't scare anyone here, freak! Batman'll come save us!"_

_I hate it when people do that. They always go 'blah blah blah, Batman will save us'. People are so boring that way. Honestly, they're all so monotonous; all but one. But that's another problem for another day and it has nothing to do with my story now._

_Anyway, after saying her peice, she stares at me in a way that I guess could pass for defiance. All I see is a scared little girl who got in a little too deep. And now she's got no way to pull herself out. I approach, grab her blonde locks, and yank her close. Out popped my baby, the completion of my right arm. A potato peeler._

_Weird for a menace to society to weild a potato peeler, you say. I can tell you that it does the job better than most knives would, and it's much less hard to clean; as though it was specifically made for cutting faces. Huh._

_Well, anyway, I take her by the hair and pull her close, so close that I can smell her foundation, lipstick, blush (I know a little something about makeup, alright?)...and she was all mine for a moment. I like the feeling of possesing her; holding her ever closer. I stared into her brown doe eyes for a whole two minutes, and watched them as they soaked in the fullness of her predicament. She's very beautiful...uncommonly so; too pretty to be a telller in a bank. Huh. The dames these days..._

_Anyhoo, I trace my little friend gently across her hairline and watched her shudder. I bit down a laugh and brush my scarred cheek against hers, and growl in her ear._

_"You wanna know how I got these scars?"_

_She shakes her head, no. She doesn't. But I pull her hair so hard that she her eyes tear and she chokes out a pathetic yes. She has wanted to know all along, but she is too afraid to say yes. Which is understandable. I'm not the most handsome guy in Gotham, I'll admit. But heck, is that any reason to be rude? I should say not._

_God, I keep getting off the track of the story. Okay, **continuing with the story**, I think for a second, taking just enough time to suck my teeth and come up with a beginning. The lie usually flows easily from there._

_"Well, it was a long time ago. I was only...14._

_Her red lips start to quiver. I must be pulling her hair harder than I thought. I let her go a little, just enough so that her head goes back to the normal position._

_"It was a little after five on a slate-skied fall day. Ugh, it looked like it was going to rain, and never stop raining. But that was the day that my mother came home early from her job at the factory."_

_She's staring at me, horrified. That's how I know that she's listening. She doesn't try to look away._

_"And Mommy goes 'hey kid, c'mere'. And what else does a good son do but go over? Well, I do, and she pulls out a bottle of beer. An empty one. One that she cracks on the table and points at me. I back away and say 'what're you doing mom?' and she just smiles. Then she wipes her hand across her face, and all the concealer comes off. A nice big scar is etched across her face. A smile."_

_By this time, my little friend has wandered into the bank teller's mouth. She is looking around, panicked, but no one is making a move to help her._

_"Well, she grabs my hair and yanks me close. And she tells me 'kid, you worry too much for your age. You really oughta smile more.' she picks up one of the nice, serrated shards and shoves it in my mouth. And she tells me 'let's put a smile on your face'. Annnnnnd...__"_

_I think some tears are coming from the bank teller's eyes. I smile grimly. I've _really _got her now; she's swallowed the story hook, line and sinker._

_"S'matter honey? Clown got your tongue?"_

_She makes a move to respond, but I pull the glass through her cheek, and she screams loud enough to wake the dead._

_Heh._

_That's how you know when they're listening._

_That's how you know, and that's when you crush 'em. Because that's what the assholes of the world need today. To be crushed into the floor._


	8. Chapter 9

**So, whenever he says "you do not" in this chapter, basically take it as the opposite. He's reliving some memories that he had with Harley Quinn :-). Not all of them are good, some of them are a little adult (heh) and...that's it! Enjoy!!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own TDK. I promise.**

**Chapter 9: What I Did and Didn't See  
Accompanying Track: Sound of Madness by Shinedown  
Suggested by: MistahJsHarley**

_"What do you see here?"_

Well, Mr. Doctor Psychiatrist, I could tell you a lot of lies about what I see. I could tell you that I see a pink and green elephant, or a chair with orange spots. But those would be lies, and I'm not in the habit of lying. Well, not much. So what should I say...?

What do I really see you ask? I won't tell you.

I won't tell you that I see Harley's couch, or the two people on it. I won't tell you that one of them is screaming and the other is smiling wildly. I won't tell you that her nails are leaving scars on the bare skin of his back, and that his hips are grinding hers to a pulp. He cannot tell what she is screaming, because the discordant music that comes with an orgasm is screaming in his ears, shutting everything out. I won't tell you that I see her face, a wide mask of confusion, anger and (probably against her will) pleasure.

_"A bat." I answer dully. He nods and shows me the next card._

I will not tell you that I see him and her lying out on her fire escape on one sticky summer night. He is not stripped to the waist; she is not sighing his name like a Buddhist mantra. He is not stroking her chin and she is not kissing his temple gently. He does not see her name somehow align in the stars, and she does not feel him breath slowly in her arms.

_"A car." I spit. The next card comes out._

You do not see the two of them screaming at each other, Psycho man. You do not hear the yelling; shouting that would have deafened the whole block. She did not just throw a dish, and his fist did not just slip a bit too far. Never mind the fact that she is knocked sideways, into the potted vine that was placed on the window ledge. It does not plummet to the sidewalk. Forget that you saw her nose snapping.

_"A car." he is getting bored of my dull answers, and I am getting agitated. How come all of those old memories are playing out in these stupid cards? The next one is placed on the table and I'm almost afraid to look._

I am trying to hide the fact that I am seeing him kick her over and over again. I am trying to shut out the noise of her unheeded screams for mercy.

_"A man." I mumble. The final card slides across the table to me. I don't bother to pick it up. I just look at it carefully, through a heavy lid._

You do not see them staring at each other. You can't see that her coat is on, her suitcase is in her hand, and no tears are in her eyes. What is in her face is dissapointment. That kills him. She says nothing, merely walks away.

_"A woman." You didn't know I was lying this whole time. About seeing the bat, the car, the man. But this time, Mr. Doctor Psychiatrist, I was telling the one hundred and ten percent truth. I promise._


	9. Chapter 10

**Happy Christmas all. *blows a hospital up***

**Chapter 10: The Perfection in a Broken Vase  
Song: Yellow by Coldplay**

Untouchable. Mad. Somehow though, utterly perfect.

Here in the womb of his mind does he reside. The room is pure polyutherane, and glass, that is unshatterable and a pure, perfect sphere of ideals and madness. There is nothing that can break him from bondage to this room. Here, anarchy and order sit on the same pedestal. Here, ugliness and beauty are one and the same. There can be no difference between the opposites, for he condradicts himself. One moment, he is God; perfect and uncorruptable. Yet within the next second he is Satan; raging, demonic, and laughing.

He is so used to being two different people, he can never be one with himself but in the little room, where everything is beautiful and ugly; perfect and broken. He glows brightly, like the most brilliant star. He is scum; a bastard who does not deserve life or love. He is forever remaking himself. He is never the same more than two days in a row, and every time there is a new persona to be had, the others are discarded as though they never existed. Though these many different people inhabit the same body, they are not the same person.

His eyes glimmered that day as he stared out at the stars. Perhaps he wonders what they are made of, or how they are so bright. He is just like these stars today; brilliant and beautiful, a testament to the genius of the Superior Being. Tomorrow he will be testy and he will scream. The stars will be clouded over tomorrow. It will rain tomorrow. But relish the fact that he is grinning now, because you can never see happiness so pure as his.

In the Joker, you can truly see the perfection in a broken vase.


End file.
